


Dollhouse

by Lacy_Star



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Child Abuse, Dream is a dick, Emotional Manipulation, Force-Feeding, Fundy is touch starved, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, Mind Manipulation, Need those angst tags for dream, Pandora's Vault, Reunions, beta-d but not... like... well., the dream-fundy wedding is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacy_Star/pseuds/Lacy_Star
Summary: "Is this what you wanted? For everyone to unite? Like this? Against you?”“United against me is better than divided and alone,” Dream said, a practiced rule.“No,” Sam snapped, “You can’t do this, Dream, you can’t do this to them. They’re people, not your fucking toys.”“This is the only way.”Sam snarled, getting close to his face. “Go fuck yourself you fucking demon. I should have never built this shit for you. If I knew what I know now, no God damn amount of money you could’ve paid me would’ve gotten me to do this for you. Fuck you.”---AKA: An exploration into the possibility of EVERYONE getting locked in Dream's prison. A day in the life of Pandora's Vault, where Dream makes the rounds and visits his family, united, together, just like he always wanted.
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), there are way more but im not tagging all of them
Comments: 226
Kudos: 965





	Dollhouse

**Author's Note:**

> If I should add any tags, please let me know. Some sensitive content moving forward. Be cautious.
> 
> Please do not plagiarize or steal any of my work.

The city was dead as the sun rose.

Dream sat on one of the numerous pillars edging L’manberg’s boardwalks and breathed. He quite liked coming here to observe, and it had become something of his morning ritual; to watch the country deteriorate like a day-by day time-lapse.

Nature moved fast, he supposed.

L’manberg, he had to admit, was the most gorgeous place in their world, even as it rotted away. He observed how the algae clung to the pillars keeping the town afloat, eating away at the sunbleached wood. Banners decorated doors and windows and walls, leftover from some festival or another, torn and frayed. A family of birds had taken home on Phil’s windowsill, the awning above shielding them from the elements-- it seemed the man left traces of family wherever he went. Vines laced over cobblestone walls in green, spindly tapestries. Overhead, lanterns glowed, lighting the way for nobody but crickets. The rising sun cast the world in an orange glow, glinting off the water and making Dream squint. So early in the morning, it was silent, save for the wind, the early birds, and water lapping at the city’s pillars.

Dream smiled. It was a beautiful morning.

So lonely was the land around him that it gave him a sense of satisfaction. He knew how pointless it was to take his frustration out on the pretty little town, but it felt satisfying to see a reflection of how he’d felt all those months, finally reflected by the cause of his troubles.

Besides, as evidence by the deterioration, nature clearly didn’t mind taking its home back.

“ _The town that once was nothing is now nothing once more.”_

Maybe Karl had been onto something there.

Dream sighed as the sky started to blue out of its orange. He hopped off the pillar he sat on and stretched out his limbs. It was starting to get late and he had such a busy day!

He took one last glance out over the Earth, soaking it in despite knowing he’d likely be back the next day, and turned away to return from whence he came. To return home. He had to visit his family.

In his absence, L’manberg creaked like a growling stomach asking why it was so empty. Miles away, a cabin sat in a snowstorm collecting dust as the steed tied outside of it prayed for someone to stop by and give it breakfast. Throughout the woods, red vines crept through the land. In dozens of chests, journals sat, awaiting their next update after so many months.

The world was dead as the sun rose. The sun wondered what the point of rising was when there was nobody for it to rise for.

Dream heard faint chatter as he approached the prison. Hard to hear, but apparent nonetheless. When he swiped his key card and the door to the prison slid open with a deafening shudder and clank, it went dead silent. It knew who had come.

Sam sat expectantly near the entrence. He didn’t meet Dream’s eye as he entered. Even so, Dream gave a polite, “Good morning.”

No response. Dream didn’t expect one.

“Any updates?”

Sam fidgeted in the way he did when there clearly was news, but he was hesitant to share.

“Serious or trivial?” Dream sighed.

Sam’s jaw clenched. After a moment, he gritted out, “This is a prison. I don’t think anything _can_ be trivial here.”

“Sam, don’t dodge the question.”

“… ‘Trivial’, I guess. As in, like, nobody tried to break out or got violent. But…” Sam said after a moment, “George said he’d talk to you if you let him see Sapnap.”

If Dream had felt tired from the morning before, he was suddenly wide awake. He froze. “Are you serious?”

“… That’s what he said when I brought him dinner last night.” Sam crossed his arms, “… he still isn’t eating.”

That wasn’t new. “He’d…” George would talk to him. _George would talk to him._ “For how long?” Dream asked, disbelief leaking into his voice.

“He didn’t say.” Sam paused, shifted, “Dream… would you maybe consider…” He paused, wincing and staring at the ground.

“Yes?” Dream said, still slightly out of breath from the offer.

“… Well, expanding cells wouldn’t be too difficult if you, Punz and I all worked together. We’d be able to finish one in less than a week.”

“They’re not that cramped,” Dream waved him off.

“No…” Sam huffed, “I mean… Maybe we should consider allowing two people to a cell.”

The prison was echoey and the message carried down each corridor. For those unfortunate to be awake, the suggestion was easily heard. A dozen breaths were held.

Dream waited a long moment. When he responded, it was with, “Why?”

“Well,” Sam took a deep breath, seeming to collect himself. He wasn’t necessarily a shy man, but making such demands were costly and not made so freely, “You only visit so often and the rest of the day they’re somewhat alone. Maybe it would be better for… er… _morale_ , to give everyone a room mate?”

Dream stayed silent and pretended to mull this over, despite knowing his answer already.

But then Sam added, “George wants to see Sapnap. So… for example… what if we roomed them together?”

Admittedly, that _did_ get Dream to pause. If George would talk to him just for seeing Sapnap, how much more amiable would he become if he got to _live_ with Sapnap?

“… I’ll consider it,” Dream said at last, “Maybe if they’re good.”

A dozen breaths were released, not in relief, but disappointment. Sam voiced their thoughts: “Whenever you say that it never happens, Dream.”

“I don’t want any ideas of escape passing around so easily.”

But Sam was, shockingly, fired up now. His head snapped up, his gaze furious as it met Dream’s. “That already happens. They take turns, you know?”

Dream blinked. “They… take turns?”

“Talking. Calling out for each other. They just have small conversations, but whenever two of them shout to each other, everyone else goes silent. Everyone lets them talk. Everyone waits their turn. Is this what you wanted? For everyone to unite? Like _this_? Against _you_?”

“United against me is better than divided and alone,” Dream said, a practiced rule. Conversations with each other… that wasn’t good. “And, Sam, whenever you hear one of those conversations, stop them. Maybe find a way to soundproof better. It’s echoey as hell in here.”

“ _No_ ,” Sam snapped, “You can’t do this, Dream, you can’t do this to them. They’re people, not your fucking toys.”

As a guard, Sam had weapons on him. Dream thought of reaching for his axe, but he knew well that physical force would be completely unnecessary.

“This is the only way.”

Sam snarled, getting close to his face. “Go _fuck_ yourself you fucking _demon_. I should have never built this shit for you. If I knew what I know now, no God damn amount of money you could’ve paid me would’ve gotten me to do this for you. Fuck you.”

Dream didn’t flinch. Calmly, he suggested, “Sam, you built these cells. You know how comfortable they are. Would you maybe want to spend some time in one?”

Instantly, Sam drew back, flash of fear in his eyes before he resolutely dropped his infuriated gaze to the floor. “… No.”

“I thought so.” Then, as if the exchange had never happened, Dream asked, “Any other news?”

Sam went silent for a long moment before shaking his head no. “Punz has been at the infirmary, so if you want an update on that you’ll have to ask him.”

“Cool.” Dream nodded before turning and starting to make his way away. “I’ll consider George’s offer and get back to you later if I need your help with that.”

Sam didn’t respond and Dream didn’t check for a nod.

“And Sam?”

“… What?”

“Good morning!”

Dream had originally intended for the group holding cell for get togethers, much as what he was considering for George and Sapnap. Maybe a party. Maybe a place for him and Techno to duel. Unfortunately, and honestly probably for the better, it had been instead converted into the “infirmary.” That wasn’t even an accurate title, as that would suggest that those inside it were healing. Perhaps “containment” was a better word, Dream thought.

Punz stood at the door, face mask and gloves on and clipboard in hand. He waved to Dream with a much more pleasant greeting than Sam had offered. “Hello, Dream.”

Dream didn’t dare get too near. Who knew if they were giving off spores-- he wouldn’t put it past them. From within he heard Puffy give a crazed laugh and his chest twisted in something like fear as he remembered all of those days following her like a duck and teasing her. The poor girl. “Good morning.”

Punz launched right into his report. “They’ve just been laughing a lot, like the last time you’ve checked in. Our suspicions about Puffy are right— her eyes have gone redder. Are you sure it’s not just like… weed?”

Dream laughed, but not without worry. “Pretty sure. Let me know if anything changes, okay?”

And Punz, always on his side, promised, “I will.”

He began to make his rounds.

Eret seemed bored these days, above all else. He lounged on his cot like it was a sad makeshift throne and greeted Dream with a glare.

“Good morning, your majesty,” Dream said, hint of a laugh leaking into his tone.

Pathetically, Eret’s eyes lit up with the title. It was too easy.

_(On his first day, after all Eret’s kicking and spitting as he threw the king into his cell, he’d smiled kindly._

_“You dropped this,” He’d said, tossing Eret’s crown to the ground in front of him. It had fallen off in his struggle, but Dream had been certain to pick it up. Eret had stared at incredulously._

_“What?” Dream said, “You thought that this didn’t make you king? Eret, it’s just a re-homing. You’ll always be king of the SMP, no matter where you are. I promise.”_

_Hesitantly, Eret had crawled over and picked it up, staring at it with restrained hope. After a long silence, he finally scoffed, “You scuffed it.”)_

“Morning,” Eret said gruffly, glancing tiredly to the side.

“I brought you a present.”

“Is it the key to my cell?”

Dream chuckled and stepped inside, locking the door behind him with one hand as he tried to balance the wrapped box in the other. “Not yet.”

Eret eyed it almost hungrily as Dream handed it over. “Is something going to jump out at me?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Slowly Eret unwrapped it, letting the wrapping fall to the floor, and then opened the white box within.

He pulled out a clean, white button up shirt. The material was flowy and silky, and the sleeves puffed and were adorned with ribbons. His eyes lit up. “… What’s the occasion?”

“Paying tax to the king.” Dream had to bring it up constantly. Eret still didn’t trust him, but so long as he stressed the point, he slowly was beginning to warm up. “We might get a closet in here for you.”

Eret carefully refolded the shirt and set it in the box to protect it. “Can I get a proper bed first? This thing barely fits me.”

“I actually spoke with Sam about that. We’re thinking of getting, like, actual proper beds for everyone next month.”

“Hell, is it my birthday? What else can I ask for?”

“Depends.”

Eret hesitated. “… I really want something baked by Niki.”

That was a demand that Dream could sympathize with. The thought of biting into one of her red velvet cakes was enough to make him hungry (and he didn’t eat often).

“I’m visiting her next. She doesn’t have a stove in her cell, but I’ll have to consider. Maybe we’ll let her in the kitchen for a day.”

“… Is she okay?”

“She’s perfectly taken care of,” Dream assured, “Everyone is, your majesty.” He hated using that title, but it was necessary. It wasn’t like it meant anything anyways.

Eret nodded solemnly, running a hand over the shirt. His mouth opened in a “thank you”, but he stopped before he could get through the first word. He paused, squinted, and then glared at Dream. “Treat her nicely, you dick.”

But the slip up had almost been there. Dream felt himself grin and nod. “I’ll tell her you say hi.”

And he left the “king” with his tribute and a salute.

When he came to Niki’s cell, he nearly stepped in baked potato on his way in.

He glanced down to the untouched food tray that had been slid back out under the door. To Dream’s credit, he fed his family well. And he was lenient with feeding times: everyone got a base breakfast lunch and dinner, but should someone want a snack or more water and could flag Sam or Punz down, they were welcome to it.

Starving was not an issue at the prison. It was only an issue when they refused to eat. George had gone through phases of not eating (and according to Sam’s report, he was in one of those ruts at that moment), but had a weak resolve and would eventually always give in. Tommy would put it off for days whenever he was in a bit of a slump, but then would whisper to Punz in the ungodly hours of the morning to bring him something, and then proceed to gorge himself until the pink returned to his pale cheeks. Dream didn’t worry about it: he figured that’s just what teenagers did.

It was Niki who was the issue. Niki who hadn’t had a bite since the day she’d been re-homed. Whose once full cheeks coated in glitter and blush had hollowed. Whose done up eyes had gone smeared and hollow. Whose once primly maintained hair had gone greasy and matted.

(She was doing it to herself— Dream hadn’t lifted a finger. They all had access to showers and hygienic items. It was some sort of hunger and shower strike, Dream knew, to let herself waste away. Punz and Sam continued to be amazed that she hadn’t given in yet. Dream was not surprised; Niki’s resolve was stronger than any enchanted armor).

He looked up from the tray left abandoned and cold on the floor to meet her eyes, glaring and set stonily. He tsked and shook his head. “Niki, come on. It’s been four days. Do you want us to force you again?”

Her eyes flashed briefly in fear. Dream had been there nearly every time, he saw the memories that flashed through her head: Arms strapped, thrashing as she was held down, her sealed lips being ripped open, a tube shoved down her throat so far it made her gag, cat food consistency slop sliding into her stomach as she choked and sobbed and screamed and vomited to get it _out_ , the stares that followed her as they dragged her back to her cell, each filled with unimaginable pity and admiration and sorrow, for they’d heard her screams, and Niki _please_ they all thought, it won’t change a thing, please don’t waste away like this, don’t put yourself through this for us, you’re too good and he’s a monster, it won’t change anything, we love you, don’t you know how we _love you?_ You’re the only hope we have left, the one good person in here, don’t kill yourself for us, we _need_ you—

The fear disappeared and the glare returned. Her lips remained sealed and Dream supposed that was an answer enough.

“Look,” He sighed, “I’ll give you one more chance. But if you don’t have your lunch today, we’re not gonna have a choice. We care about you, Niki. _I_ care. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.”

Finally she spat, “If _this_ is how you show your care, I don’t want it.”

“Oh Niki,” He sighed as if he weren’t talking about a wreck of an inmate, and simply about a distant relative that was just being her own quirky self.

Unlike Eret, he didn’t enter her cell. She’d sprung up and ripped his mask off when he’d done that the first day, and, admittedly, it had startled him away from getting too near her.

 _(“What the_ fuck _, Niki!?” He’d yelled, kneeling with his exposed face pointed to the ground as the footsteps of Sam rushed towards the cell. He scrambled to grab the mask which had skidded across the floor._

_She didn’t hit him, to his shock, or anything of the sort. She just screamed, louder than he’d ever heard her, like she finally had the chance and would never get it back. Fascinating._

_“If you have the_ audacity _to try and talk to me after what you’ve done,” Niki had shouted with a pointed finger, the entire prison silencing at her words, “Do it without that God damn thing on! You are a_ coward _Dream! Don’t do this to all of us and then try to hide behind that mask!_ Look at me _!_ ”

_Startled, and though he’d never admit it in a retelling, he had._

_She’d burned holes in him with her eyes as Punz rushed to restrain her. “Without that, you’re_ nothing. _Look at how scared you are_.”

_Reflecting, Dream couldn’t decide if he had been scared in that moment or not. He tried not to think on it andjust decided to keep the safety of the bars between him and the girl from then on)._

“You must be tired of just sitting in that corner,” He mused, “You know if you want something, as long as it’s reasonable, I’d be happy to give it to you.”

She opened her mouth to give a spitting response, probably about how she didn’t want shit from him, but he continued before she could, “Eret says hi, you know.”

Instantly she quieted, eyes seeming just the slightest livelier. “Eret? Is she okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Says he wants something made by you.”

She smiled ever so slightly, fondly at the mention of her friend.

“Say,” Dream suggested, “If you eat today… maybe I’ll let you in the kitchen tomorrow and you can make something for everyone.”

She froze, eyes widening and snapping up to him. “You’re a liar,” She said, but her voice held a note of hope.

“I’m serious,” He promised, “Besides, I’ve wanted one of your doughnuts for ages.”

Instantly she glared, the thought of taking him up on his offer gone. He’d messed up. “I’ll poison it.”

“With what?”

“… I’ll spit in it.”

He laughed, leaning an arm against the iron bars and obsidian wall separating them. “Niki, I don’t understand why you hate me when I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

“You imprisoned us.”

“I _re-homed_ you.”

“In a prison.”

“I don’t like calling it that. I had to tell Sam it was a prison so he’d make it inescapable.”

“So if you held us captive at your house, that wouldn’t be imprisonment? I don’t think the location matters, Dream.” Then she smiled slightly, “Oh wait, you don’t have a house, isn’t that right?”

Dream chewed the inside of his cheek. Had Techno seriously yelled that he didn’t have a house again to everyone who had listened? Not that it was true, he had a house. He had a house. _He had a house (kinda)—_

“You will never be my friend, Dream,” Niki snapped harshly, smile gone.

“I’m doing more for you than you realize, Niki. One day you’ll understand.”

She crossed her arms tightly. “Name _one_ thing you’ve done for me.”

Dream’s lips quirked up in a smile as he said, “I let you speak.”

Niki froze.

“Niki, have I ever talked over you?”

Her eyes strayed to the walls that held her. She stared blankly like a corpse.

“Look, regardless of how mad you are at me, at least I _let_ you be mad. I understand that it’s scary—“

“Fuck off,” She whispered.

He ignored her— he’d never gotten this far before— and continued, “Niki, this is your home and whether you want me to be or not, I’m your _friend_. I want you to feel better. And if screaming at me is what you need to do to feel better? Then I’m not going to interrupt you. I won’t take that away from you like they all have.”

Her breathing shallowed, her chipped nails digging into her arms.

“And because I care about you, I don’t want to see you waste away. So will you _please_ eat?” He begged softly.

Slowly, she straightened, turning to him, her eyes full of unshed tears— a waste of water, considering how little she was consuming— and then, in a hushed voice, calmly said, “Then so long as you give me a voice, I’ll use every word I breathe against you. And when you finally give up and take it away from me like everyone else has, I will use every last action I make to fight against what you’ve done to us. You can only force me to live so long.”

Dream felt the hair stand up on his arms as she stared through him and was once again glad to have the mask. Maybe she’d been correct when she’d called him a coward the first day.

But then again, he wasn’t the one in a cell.

“And if you die, which I won’t let you,” he assured softly, “and nothing changes, then what? You’ve wasted your lives for nothing.”

She was heaving breaths now, tears spilling down. It was clear his little speech before her threat had hit a nerve. She looked as powerless as she must’ve felt.

“And everyone here wants you alive, Niki. Hell, everyone is _safe_ in here. Nobody’s losing any more lives on my watch. Isn’t that safer then when you were all being silly and starting wars and killing each other before?” He gave a placating smile, “So why don’t you have some lunch later today so tomorrow you can bake something for everyone? I’m sure they’d all love that a lot more than you dying. Everyone’s been kinda sad around here lately. Don’t you want to make them happier?”

She choked brokenly, but never stopped her glare. Her eyes darted, even so, between the abandoned tray of food, him, and the wall. She was deliberating.

“You seem stressed,” He said, stepping away from her cell, “I’ll leave you to think. I know it’s not an easy choice, but I know it would really brighten everyone’s day to taste something you’ve made. You’re talented, you know.” Then Dream turned with a sigh and started to walk away from her cell. “I’m off. Take care, Niki. Seriously.”

Her sniffles rung out behind him. He couldn’t imagine her stress.

What a choice: to be a mender or to be a martyr.

Dream popped by Quackity (though it might’ve just been Schlatt looking at him through Quackity’s eyes, who was to say), before popping in to see Tubbo.

Unlike Eret, his prestigious title had been stripped. After all, the SMP was an official land. L’manberg was not.

(“ _Who are you president over, anyways?” He’d asked on the first day as Tubbo stared at him through terrified tears._

_“L’manberg! Unhand me!”_

_How cute. “There’s nobody left in L’manberg to defend you. Just you.” He’d paused before saying, “Well, that’s not true. There is someone else.”_

_“… Who?” Tubbo had asked, voice quavering with hope._

_“Oh, sorry. There_ was _someone else.” Dream hadn’t been able to help his smile, “Until you exiled him.”_

_Tubbo’s face had fallen._

_“Maybe it’s best you’re not president anymore after making decisions like those, hm?”_ )

Tubbo had only had one request the entire time he’d been in the prison. Dream anticipated the question before he even opened his mouth upon coming to Tubbo’s cell.

“Can I see Tommy today?” He asked, greeting Dream with bleary eyes from the early awakening and fluffy bed-mussed hair.

“Not yet,” Dream said, “Want to play chess?”

Tubbo deflated, though he didn’t seem surprised, “If I win, can I see Tommy?”

“No, but I can show you a picture of a bee.”

“… I’ll take what I can get.”

Dream had won. Karl had been asleep when Dream had dropped by, and he didn’t want to interrupt his rest so he moved on.

Wilbur had been the easiest to bring to the prison. No weapons had been required, no shoving, no yelling, nothing.

( _Dream had just pointed to the open door of the cell. “This is your house now!”_

_“You made me a house!?” Wilbur’s eyes had gone wide in excitement, “Oh, that’s so nice of you! But, Dream, I already have a house next to Techno—“_

_“Techno’s moving here too!” Dream had assured sweetly, “He’s actually probably going to be pretty close to your room!”_

_“Really?” Wilbur had frowned in his confused little pout he always did, “He never mentioned moving… Or maybe I just forgot…”_

_“Oh, he only just decided,” Dream had assured, waving him off, “Everyone’s moving here actually! We’re all gonna be together!”_

_“That’s nice!” Wilbur decided. After another moment of deliberation he stepped into the cell, looking around eagerly. “It’s cozy in here! All it needs is a library!”_

_“We can add one soon!” Dream had assured, shutting the door and locking it. Too easy. “But Ghostbur, I’m gonna have to ask you not to leave this room. Nobody’s allowed to leave their rooms unless I let them. That’s just the rule for living here.”_

_“Oh…” Wilbur had frowned, “Did I do something?”_

_“No, you didn’t do anything! All you have to do is stay here!”_

_“Ah… okay!” He’d nodded with an apologetic smile. “I can do that!”_

_“Awesome! Thank you, Ghostbur”)._

For what it was worth, Dream had no clue if the ghost could move through walls or not and could easily escape. But as long as he’d been there, Wilbur had never been spotted out of his cell. He’d been rewarded handsomely; a small bookshelf and comfy stool sat in the corner of his little living space.

When Dream approached, he was perched on the stool though, surprisingly, not reading. Most days he was. Instead he was _frowning_.

“Ghostbur?” Dream asked as he approached, unlocking the door to step inside, “Is something wrong?”

“I heard… I heard…” The spirit’s voice seemed even more echoey from within his chamber, “There’s been yelling and… people saying we’re stuck, but that doesn’t make any sense…”

This would happen occasionally. Dream tried to give a relaxed smile. This would pass.

“I don’t… I don’t remember,” Wilbur fretted quietly, “You built this home for us… you and Sam. Didn’t you? Why is everyone saying we’re trapped? Why is there so much screaming? Did I do something?”

“You didn’t do anything, Ghostbur,” Dream assured gently, “And that never happened. It must have been a dream you had.”

Wilbur glanced at him doubtfully, but didn’t press, instead letting himself slump in relief. Most days it seemed the ghost would do anything for deniability. “Oh, well that’s good. We’re not stuck?”

“Mmm… no, but you can’t leave.”

“Oh. Well that doesn’t make much sense.”

“Yes it does.”

“It does?” The ghost squinted before hesitantly shrugging, “Well… I guess it does if you say so.”

Dream crossed his arms, standing comfortably. “That’s right. Say, how about I bring you some more blue tomorrow?”

Wilbur smiled gratefully. “That would be lovely, Dream. Thank you… Sorry, I just don’t feel much like myself today.”

Dream promised he’d get right on that, deciding to spare the ghost the knowledge that he hadn’t been himself for much, much longer than a day.

The creepiest thing Dream had ever done— that even _he_ would admit was creepy and insane-- was watch the Blood God sleep. It had just been one night, but he’d stood outside Technoblade’s cell and watched his sleeping form in the corner and admired. He did that more often than he would’ve liked to admit: just stared at Technoblade.

But one had to understand that Technoblade wasn’t a prisoner. Technoblade was a _trophy._

He’d been the hardest to wrangle in, but all Dream had to do in the end was threaten a certain angel and horse and he’d laid his weapons down.

Techno had been quiet in his cell ever since, conversing with Dream whenever he stopped by and staying mellow.

But Dream was no idiot. Techno wasn’t displaying complacency. He was lying in wait.

Dream hadn’t the faintest idea what the man had planned, but he’d come to the prison just a little too willingly to just give up. Techno never gave up. It was suspicious and Dream had no idea how to prevent whatever Techno had planned. The man had hardly seemed phased when Dream burnt his weapons in front of his eyes.

Which meant only one thing: he didn’t _need_ weapons for whatever destruction he was planning.

“Dream,” Techno greeted in monotony.

“Techno,” Dream greeted as he unlocked the beast’s cage and stepped inside. A dangerous action, to step into a lion’s den, but the lion had been declawed and the hunter had a gun. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not particularly.” Techno paused and swatted at the air beside his ear as if he were trying to smack away a buzzing fly. There was none. Dream studied the movement and didn’t near him. “I was busy thinking.”

“Were you now?”

Their tones were placatingly polite with one another. All for show. It was rather entertaining.

“I’m honestly glad you stopped by, y’know. I thought of a story to tell you,” Techno said, holding him with a level gaze.

“Oh? Do tell.” Dream leaned back against the wall expectantly.

“You’re a man with good taste. You know how we both love our greek heroes.”

This ought to be good. “Mmhm.”

“... In the beginning, the first gods couldn’t procreate until Eros, the god of love arrived. When he did, Gaea, the goddess of the Earth, had a son named Uranus— the starry sky. And they married, because incest was cool back then.”

Dream breathed a chuckle, “Of course.”

“But Uranus was cruel and didn’t want the children he and Gaea had to see daylight. So he imprisoned them. Gaea tried to encourage her children to fight against him, and in the end, only one did: Cronus.”

“Who ate his kids,” Dream supplied.

“Do you remember why he ate his children, Dream?”

Dream stayed silent. Techno’s words, low and heavy, seemed to vibrate through the prison walls.

“Cronus wanted power. Like his father, he imprisoned the Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires in Tartarus so that they couldn’t rebel, and when it was prophesied that one of his children would overthrow him, he ate them so they couldn’t take his power away. And he almost succeeded until his wife— who was also his sister, for whatever reason— hid the final child and fed him a rock disguised like the baby instead. That child grew up to be Zeus, god of the gods. And when the time came to rebel against Cronos, he went to Tartarus and _freed_ those he’d imprisoned, and with their power and the tools they made for him and his siblings, Zeus finally was able to defeat Cronos.”

Dream tried to soak this in. After a minute, he smiled, strained. “Techno, knowing you… this sounds like a warning to me.”

Techno didn’t flinch away, just staring at him. “Dream?”

“Yes?”

“Beware of rocks in disguise.”

Then Techno turned away from him. Dream exited the cell and locked it behind him. There was nothing left to say.

Dream had preparing to do.

It was about lunch when Dream came to Phil.

The older man was laying on his cot with his eyes closed, and Dream had nearly thought him to be asleep before his footsteps caused the older to open his eyes.

He glared at Dream as he approached. “Dream,” He greeted coldly.

“Hello Phil. Comfortable?”

“Not at all.”

Like father like son. Dream smiled. “What are you thinking about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Unless you have news to share about my kids, I don’t want to talk.”

Dream glanced to the floor. “Oh, they’re fine. Techno and I had a nice chat before I came here.”

“About what?”

That was one thing: the man seemed desperate for any information he could get about Techno. It gave Dream the sense that he didn’t know whatever Techno’s plans were and were trying to figure it out just as much as Dream was.

As such, Dream did not share the myth he’d just heard. “Nothing you’d care to know.”

Phil glowered at him. “And how’s Wilbur?”

“Enjoying his stay.”

Voice short, Phil demanded, “Tommy.”

“Your kid is a brat,” Dream laughed softly, “But he learns quickly.”

“You’re fucking sick.”

“Oh, relax,” Dream assured, “He’s doing great.”

“No.” Phil rose to his full height and stalked over to the bars, finger pointed and aggressive, “You listen. As soon as I’m out of here I’m going to _kill_ you for what you’ve done to my family.”

Dream just stared, amused. Pity how blind the man was to his own hypocrisy. “You mean what I’ve done to Techno? He’s the only one you’ve stood up to protect. I don’t know… I guess I’m just a little confused as to why you’ve only begun to care now. It’s like you’ve only just remembered you have more than one kid.”

Phil stiffened. Then he took two steps forwards, reached through the bars, hand open to grab Dream by the collar—

The moment his fingers passed the threshold of the iron bars, a loud siren blared, ear piercing. Several startled shouts rose from cells nearby. Instantly Phil flinched back at the alarm, eyes darting back and forth. The moment he recoiled, the sound instantly stopped. Dream just laughed.

“Thank you!” He said, “I’ve been waiting for someone to test that out. Glad to see it works.”

“We’re gonna die from bloody heart attacks if you don’t kill us first, Jesus Christ…” Phil breathed, had clutching his chest.

“Hands to yourself, Philza,” Dream sighed, “You don’t seem eager for conversation, so I think I’ll be on my way…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Phil said, anger instantly flaring again, “I’m not finished.”

“It looked like I interrupted a nap. I’ll let you get back to it.”

“You think I don’t know what I’ve done!?” Phil snapped loudly, “You think I don’t wake up smelling blood off my son’s clothes as he died in my fucking arms? You think I don’t worry about how quiet Tommy was before you locked us up here? Tommy’s not quiet. _You_ made him quiet, I know you did—“

“Phil,” Dream shushed softly, “I wouldn’t be worrying about this if I were you.” He turned from the cell, his smile matching his mask, “After all, it’s a bit too late to fix things now, isn’t it?”

And with that he turned and left the father to grieve.

Fundy was bereft.

There was no other way to describe the fox boy’s demeanor. Often he was quiet. He just stared. Most days when Dream had tried to approach him, Fundy quietly requested that he left. And Dream, wanting his family to be happy, let him have his space.

Which made it all the more shocking when, on this day, Fundy let Dream enter his cell silently, though not meeting his eyes. This wasn't the first time he'd allowed it, but it was a rare occasion nonetheless.

“It’s been a while,” Dream said, breaking the tight silence at last. Fundy’s tail flicked from where it splayed out behind him on his cot where he sat.

For a while, Fundy was silent as Dream just stood in front of him. Then, quietly, he muttered, “You know, this isn’t how I thought life would be after our wedding.”

Dream glanced off to the side, feeling just a thread of guilt spool through his chest. He ripped it as easily as a cobweb. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Disappoint,” Fundy spat, detested, “That’s a way to put it lightly. That doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

Dream felt an itch on his cheek, under his mask. He ignored it, but the silence seemed to make it persist.

“Remember when we talked about our honeymoon?”

“Yeah,” Dream muttered, surprised by the remorse in his own voice, “That jungle to the south?”

“Getting a parrot and naming it Blueberry?”

“Building our treehouse… you described the design to me.”

“I have it sketched out in a book at home.”

“The big balcony to the west—“

They finished together, “So we could always watch the sun set.”

Fundy’s head snapped up, his eyes filled with exhausted tears. He held Dream’s gaze, his muzzle stretching out in a sad smile. After a moment, he said, “I should’ve known you didn’t mean it. I’ve never seen your eyes. Even at our own God damn wedding, you didn’t take that fucking mask off—“

“I need it,” Dream mumbled.

“You’re a liar.”

It was a struggle. He’d never loved Fundy, no, but it was nice to dream about. A stability. A home. Love that was honestly reciprocated.

But after all, that’s why he’d had the prison built. The prison was just as good for granting him that as a marriage was. The prison was a home. And if everyone had to be on house arrest, so be it.

He knew doing this would make everyone hate him. He foresaw this.

Dream grabbed the salt, holding Fundy’s gaze.

For a moment, Fundy’s eyes softened. “… I’m not going anywhere. Can I see now?”

He paused. “See what?”

“Your eyes.”

With his free hand, Dream’s fingers brushed over the edge of his mask, poised and hesitating.

What was he thinking?

“Mmm… no.”

Fundy’s ears flattened. For a beat he was crestfallen, then his nostrils flared and he snarled, “... Fuck off. Get out of my cell.”

Dream did the opposite. He held the salt closer to the open cut as he walked towards Fundy and crouched in front of him so they were eye level.

“You’ve ruined my fucking life, look what you’ve done!” Fundy spat, “Leave me alone!”

There was nothing to repair here. He’d have to start over and rebuild. Burn the ice away so spring could come.

“This is all _your fault!_ ”

Dream took a breath, and poured the salt in the wound.

“Fundy, it’s not my fault that nobody loves you.”

Fundy froze, suddenly more deer-in-headlights than fox.

Dream continued, “Wilbur never loved you. Your friends never loved you. Eret hasn’t mentioned you once since he came here.”

At the mention of his adoptive father, Fundy made a wounded noise in the back of his throat.

“And if you want me to be honest, Fundy,” Dream said quietly, “I never loved you either. Not like you wanted me to.”

The truth hung heavy in the air. Fundy’s breaths came out shallow, strained, and he blinked frantically to hold in tears.

The ice burned away and Dream let it for a minute. Then, once it was gone, he let the sun rise.

“But,” He said softly, “You’re my family. Everyone here is. This is our home.”

Dream raised a hand and rested it on Fundy’s furred cheek, the strands soft beneath his exposed fingers. Fundy let out the tiniest breath, and, if it weren’t for years of analyzing slight changes and split second trajectory differences, Dream would’ve missed how Fundy leaned ever so slightly into the touch.

“And we can learn to love each other again. Not like before, and not like you want. But we can be a family. Isn’t that what you want, Fundy?” He stroked over the boy’s cheekbone, “A family?”

Fundy’s eyes fluttered closed, a tear or two escaping as he leaned into the touch heavily, suddenly, with a doglike whine.

“I can give you that Fundy. That’s all I _want_ to give you,” Dream whispered, “And I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you before.”

“I hate you,” Fundy whispered, “Fuck you, fuck—“ He practically nuzzled into Dream’s gloved palm.

Dream stayed quiet, petting the fox-boy’s cheek gently. He felt warm. He felt good. He’d done something good.

“ _Fuck_ you—“ Fundy repeated then, louder to snap himself out of it, forcing himself to move— to _tear_ himself away from Dream’s hand, “Get out— get…”

Dream knew he’d done more than enough. Rising to his full height, he nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow Fundy. I’ll always be back for you, I promise.”

And as he moved to the door, he left his ex-fiancee with the sentiment, “And I won’t break that promise this time.”

And then he left. Spring was coming. He just had to let it bloom.

People didn’t understand Dream yet, but one day they would.

One day they would wake up to a world where they didn’t have to worry of war or conflict and would collectively heave a sigh of relief. And while they wouldn’t thank Dream, they’d know it was best.

Perhaps one day Dream would set them free. He’d been rebuilding the SMP a bit, planning for the future. A nice little town. No presidents, no nothing. Just a place to wake up and enjoy life together in harmony, as it was always meant to be. And if anyone disobeyed, they could always just return to the vault.

Being the villan wasn’t an easy job. Dream knew that the day his fantasy village would come to be was far away and nothing more than a murky vision. And being patient was hard.

Being the villain was difficult. Dream didn’t love being hated, but he was willing to put up with it. He didn’t love walking home every day knowing he’d be spat at or have to walk down hallways echoing with sobs. He was a person just as much as they were— he wanted to be appreciated.

Which was why, aside from George and Sapnap, Tommy was always Dream’s favorite to visit.

Dream caught a glance of him through the iron bars as he neared. His face was cast down to the floor, hidden in shadow, and he sat very still, totally silent. It was shocking how much he’d grown.

The first few days, he’d been constantly moving, kicking, shouting, muttering to himself to hear the echo, because at least the echo was _someone_ to talk to. He’d had a rough start.

 _(“Not again,” He’d sobbed as Dream had slid his door shut for the very first time, the very first day of his re-homing, and the very first time he’d become aware of his new prison, “Not again, oh God— not again, Dream_ please _not again— I’ll do anything— I can’t be alone again— not again not again not again not again—“)_

He’d always responded in either terror or fury those first weeks Dream visited. So much progress reset so suddenly.

Which was why it was such a welcome surprise, as always, when now Tommy recognized his presence, face lifting and lighting up like a Christmas display, springing to his feet with an eager shout of, “Dream!”

He rushed to the bars, careful not to touch as Dream returned the warm greeting whilst fumbling for his keyring. When his face came to light, Dream nearly had to wince; he’d known it was going to bruise, but not so badly. The entire right side of Tommy’s face was purpled and browned, mostly on his cheek and in an angry ring around his eye.

Dream unlocked and stepped into the cell without bothering to lock it behind him. He didn't have to. He pointed to his own face, mirroring where Tommy’s bruises were. His voice held a note of warning as he said, “That looks like it hurts.”

For a second Tommy paused, a jumping puppy sprayed with a squirt bottle, and took a step away from him. His gaze fell to the floor. “Not so bad,” He mumbled.

Dream hummed, not commenting. He didn’t have to; Tommy continued for him: “You… you didn’t visit yesterday.” He crossed his arms and glanced to the floor, “Were… were you really that mad?”

Dream glanced past him and Tommy shriveled. “Mmm… no. I just figured you might not want to see me after that.”

“No!” Tommy yelped quickly, “I— I always want to see you! Fuck, I do, I’m sorry…” He apologized, despite being the one wearing the bruises.

“Sorry for…?”

Tommy hesitated. “What, you gonna make me write an apology note and read it to the class?”

As soon as the words left his mouth he froze. Dream didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

“Sorry—“ Tommy instantly apologized, “For saying that— I’m sorry— and I’m sorry for—“ His fingers dug into his arms, “Fuck—“

“Tommy,” Dream said quietly, “Breathe, take your time. I forgive you for saying that.”

This seemed to ease the teen just slightly. “Oh— um… alright… I’m sorry for trying to hit you a couple days ago.”

Dream stayed silent. A wordless message. _Not good enough. And…?_

“And—“ Tommy supplied, “And it was wrong, because you were visiting me, and I shouldn’t have tried to hurt you— and… made you… not want to visit again. And made you hurt me.” He laughed hollowly, finishing in a mumble under his breath. “Guess I had it coming…”

 _Better_. Dream nodded after a moment of deliberation. “I forgive you, Tommy.”

Tommy’s shoulder’s slumped. “Oh, thank you, Dream.”

“I’m not done.” Dream’s heart pounded excitedly as Tommy’s mouth snapped shut.

This… _this_ was a whole new level. If he could pull this off, this would be a step towards that fantasy village.

Perhaps, if he was good, Tommy could be the first to move in.

But before he could trust him with freedom, he had to trust him with something almost as important.

“If you can promise me that you won’t _ever_ try and fight me again… because I’m sure you didn’t mean that...”

“I didn’t!” Tommy blurted, “I didn’t mean it— I— Oh, sorry.” He shut himself up quickly, realizing how he’d interrupted, “Sorry.”

Dream started again, patiently, “If you can promise you won’t ever do that again… I have a present to show you.”

Tommy’s eyes flickered up to him. “You do…? What is it?”

“A surprise. Only if you promise.”

Tommy hardly hesitated. “I promise. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Children are the future. That was always the saying. As Dream visualized the peaceful little town, seeing it reflected in Tommy’s sparkling eyes, he began to realize what that meant.

Finally, he said, “Alright then. Come here.”

He guided Tommy over to his cot in the corner and gestured for Tommy to take a seat, which he did.

“Alright,” Dream said, “I’m going to pull out an ender chest.”

Tommy’s eyes went wide.

“You aren’t going to touch it.”

It wasn’t a question. Tommy nodded.

If Dream were more careful, he would’ve left the cell, locked it, _then_ gone in the ender chest to retrieve what he needed, then re-entered. That would’ve been safest. No risk of Tommy reaching into the chest, grabbing a sword, and slicing him in half (not that the scrawny kid would be capable).

But this was part of the test. Tommy couldn’t touch.

Dream produced the ender chest and set it down. Tommy stared at it with pinpoint eyes. Dream could practically see his fingers twitching.

Dream opened it. Reached inside. Tommy didn’t move.

He pulled out a jukebox— a record player— and set it on the cot next to Tommy. Tommy’s eyes flickered to it as if grateful for the distraction.

It made him miss what Dream pulled out next before shutting the chest and sealing it away. He didn’t realize until Dream was holding it out in front of his eyes.

“Surprise,” Dream said, holding a green disc labeled “Cat.”

Tommy’s jaw fell unhinged.

Dream smiled.

“Go on,” He urged, “Take it. Play it.”

Tommy stared at it silently, owlishly, for a flabbergasted ten seconds. Then he glanced back to the record player. Then back to the disc. _His_ disc.

“This is a dream,” Is what he whispered at long last, “You— _you’re_ a dream. You’re…” His gaze tilted up to meet the eyes of the mask. “You’re Dream.”

“That I am.”

Tommy raised trembling hands to grab the disc, hesitating before his fingers could brush vinyl. “Is… is this a trick? Some sort of test?”

“The ender chest was the test, Tommy. You passed,” Dream assured honestly, “This isn’t a trick. Play your disc.”

Tommy finally took Cat from him, turning it around in his hands and watching how it shined in the dim light. It was a bit scuffed after being in the crossfire of so many battles, and Dream knew for sure it skipped in certain places from its wear. But its imperfections were what confirmed it to be Tommy’s. And Tommy was staring at it as if Dream had given him the universe to hold and coddle.

Dream let him admire. The future was bright.

Finally, Tommy placed the disc in the jukebox and let the needle fall. With a scratch and a start, the bubbly melody flowed through the echoey prison, through the halls, overhead and soaring and hopeful. Tommy turned the volume up to let everyone hear.

And he stared. Stared so long that tears sprung to his eyes. And then he smiled and laughed, and _laughed,_ and turned to Dream and clutched his sleeve and Dream let him as Tommy exclaimed, “I haven’t heard music since… fuck… you—“

Dream smiled softly.

“Since you brought me here!” But Tommy didn’t say it with malice. Didn’t say “tortured me” or “imprisoned me” or anything. Just “brought me here.” Dream set a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, moving to sit next to him.

“Surprise!”

Tommy stared at him with shining eyes, like he was new, like he’d shown him an oasis in a desert, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Dream didn’t say “you’re welcome”, just raised a finger to his lips for quiet as he smiled. “You’re gonna miss it if you keep talking.”

Tommy shut up faster than Dream had ever seen him before.

As the song progressed, bright and cheery against the dark, Tommy’s eyes slipped shut as he soaked it in. And, intentionally or not, he slumped to rest his bruised and tired head against Dream’s shoulder. Dream wrapped an arm around the kid’s back, allowing it. Knowing there was no threat. Knowing the future was bright.

They stayed that way in comfortable silence until the song faded out to silence. Tommy didn’t move from where he leaned against Dream.

“Thank you…” He said again, “Can— can I keep it?”

“… No,” Dream said softly.

“… Oh.”

“But… maybe soon, I’ll bring Mellohi.”

Tommy gasped, only hearing the last half of the sentence. Not the “maybe”. There was always a maybe with Dream that almost always meant never. But if Dream had brought one of his discs to listen to today, why wouldn’t he do it again? Surely there had to be _some_ truth to his words.

“Really?” Tommy breathed.

“Sure.” Not soon. That had been a lie. Dream wanted to hold onto that to hold above Tommy’s head, just in case. But someday, surely. Just as someday, Tommy might go free.

And if Tommy— rambunctious, loudmouthed _Tommy—_ could go free, could walk past all the other cells some day like a parade, where everyone watched him make his grand exit into the real world again and would gape because, of all of them, _Tommy?_

If everyone could see that?

Everyone would begin to behave. Because surely they could be nicer than _Tommy._ Surely they could leave the prison easier than twice-exiled _Tommy_ had.

“Well… fuck, thank you,” Tommy breathed softly.

“Of course.” Dream moved to take the disc and jukebox, setting the ender chest back down and placing them away. Tommy’s eyes stared longingly after the disc as it went, but never moved, just as Dream instructed.

“I need to get going," He said when the treasure was sealed away.

Tommy groaned, “That was so short, though…”

“I know,” Dream sympathized as best he could, “But I’ll stay longer tomorrow. I just… have a lot of work today. Some decisions to make.”

“Like what?”

Dream turned to Tommy and chuckled, ruffling his hair and receiving a returning glare. “Nothing you need to know, nerd.”

“Shut up, green bitch,” Tommy scoffed teasingly.

And with a smile and warm goodbye, Dream left him there. Tommy smiled after him, face bruised and cell cramped as he went.

The future was bright.

_George said he’d talk to you if you let him see Sapnap._

That’s what Sam had said.

It was an offer that had been stewing in Dream’s mind since he’d heard such news. A thought on the back burner all day.

Normally, such requests for visitation, like those of Tubbo for Tommy, were promptly ignored. They weren’t deserving of that yet. They didn’t deserve the privilege to see each other and exchange dangerous words that could lead to escape or worse.

(The prison was inescapable, but Dream would never get too comfortable, no matter how many alarms Sam claimed the place was rigged with.)

Dream wasn’t an idiot.

He was, however, desperate.

_George would talk to him if he let him see Sapnap._

Dream approached Sapnap’s cell.

_George had never said how long. He’d never said privately, either. Dream could supervise. It would be fine. He’d overhear any secret plans or anything of the sort._

Sapnap stared up at the ceiling, on his back on the floor, tossing his white bandana— which he’d fashioned into a makeshift ball— up towards the ceiling and catching it as it came down, over and over. These days, the guy seemed more bored than angry.

_Besides… He missed them together. He missed the three of them. He missed his team._

That wasn’t to say Sapnap wasn’t angry. He didn’t have to look to see Dream approaching, sensing his footsteps through the echoes they made off the walls. His expression pinched as he neared, throwing the ball higher and higher, faster and faster.

_He knew that he wouldn’t be welcomed back in, of course. His friends hated him. But just seeing them together… giving him a semblance of what it used to be like…_

Sapnap got too hasty as Dream stopped in front of the bars to his cell. The ball shot off to the left, far from where he could catch it, and rolled into the corner. He huffed in frustration.

_George had talked to Sam before he’d talked to Dream. He could have told Dream his offer and it wouldn’t have changed. Dream would’ve loved it more than hearing it through the grapevine. Dream wanted him to talk._

“What the fuck do you want, Dream?” Sapnap groaned.

_George would talk to him if he let him see Sapnap._

“Hello, Sapnap,” Dream greeted distantly, still caught up in his head.

Sapnap grunted as he sat up into a cross-legged position, giving Dream a half-hearted glare. This was routine at this point.

“Dude, be honest,” Sapnap said, “Are you like… a masochist?”

 _That_ woke him up. “Huh?”

“Like… no, fuck that’s not the word…” Sapnap squinted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I mean… do you have a…” He snapped his fingers, remembering, “Degradation kink! Do you have a degradation kink?”

Dream gave a sudden, honest laugh of, “ _Whaaaat—!?”_

“Like,” Sapnap said, leaning back on his hands, “You come here every day _knowing_ I’m gonna insult you, but you come anyways. Like, do you _like_ it when I do that, or…?”

And Dream had to laugh. It was almost reminiscent of when they were friends, with how casual it was. “Dude, no! Fuck no.”

Sapnap resisted a smile. “Are you sure? ‘Cause why else do you come?”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“Absolutely. You’re a fucking dick.”

There it was. There was the anger.

Sapnap was impressively good at staying mad. But then again, Dream hadn’t quite done as much “work” with him like he’d done to Tommy, so it made sense that he hadn’t worn out so easily. There was never a second where Dream doubted the fact that Sapnap was wholeheartedly furious for the re-homing, even months after it had happened. His insults had grown less fiery not because he wasn’t upset, but because he was bored, tired, and running out of points to make that he hadn’t already.

Dream feared that if he let the meetup happen, he might come up with more points.

That wasn’t ideal. Dream had a method for these people. Sapnap he was just kind of… trying to let wear himself out.

_But George would talk to him._

Ignoring the insult, Dream asked, “Why are you on the floor?”

“Because I realized I’d never stared at this room from this angle before. Y’know, before you like, started holding me captive, I could kinda go wherever and see a thousand new things whenever I wanted? So now I kinda gotta… find new angles. To look at this one room at. So I don’t get bored. Because I can’t leave. And I can’t see new things.”

Was Dream going to seriously do it?

_George would talk to him._

It would be such a mistake. Why was he so desperate? He was foolish to think that George would shower him with love for such a favor. He’d talk, but who was to say that the words would be kind?

But insults were better than silence.

 _George_.

“Well, if you’re so tired of it in here,” Dream said, regretting the words as they left his mouth, yet powerless to stop them, “Why don’t I let you on a field trip?”

This clearly piqued Sapnap’s interest, but he withheld with a defensive squint. “What? Gonna let me listen to a disc and pretend it’s fine?” So he really had heard.

“A field trip out of your cell,” Dream repeated.

Sapnap clenched his jaw, looking him up and down. “Why?”

Dream glanced off to the side, unable to meet his eyes. “George made a proposition.”

They didn’t mention that name between them. Not since the first day.

 _(“You know what!? I could even expect you to pull some sort of this fucking shit on me, but on_ George _!?”_

_“Don’t—“ Dream had threatened, heart twisting._

_“You’re so fucked up Dream. You’re fucking crazy. I was so fucking wrong about you”)._

“… George,” Sapnap echoed.

“Yes. George.”

“… About… what?”

“A visitation.” Dream swallowed. No going back. “A visitation between you and him.”

Silent. It was past lunchtime, nearing sundown. Everyone was awake. Everyone could hear.

Disbelievingly, Sapnap whispered, “… Today?”

“Today.”

He couldn’t see Sapnap’s expression, but he could feel his stare.

Dream swallowed his nerves— this was such a mistake— and continued, “Five minutes tops. We take you to his cell. If you try and escape and there _will_ be _severe_ punishment.” Dream hadn’t figured out what the punishment would be yet, and hoped he wouldn’t have to, “And I will be present the whole time, supervising.”

It wasn’t a favor. It was the bare minimum.

And even so…

Quiet, so hushed that Dream almost truly missed it, “ _Please.”_

Dream glanced up quickly to meet his eyes, and there was the faintest hint of _pleading_ there. Ever so barely, and hidden by foggy exhaustion and exasperation, but it was there. Sapnap had just begged him for this one thing. Even if it was quietly, even without intending for Dream to hear.

But Dream had heard.

They stared at each other a long time. Countless nights of laughter and shared mirth gone, swept so far under the rug that it had been devoured by dust.

Sapnap had _begged_ him.

They could come back from insults. They could come back from wars. They could come back through destruction and crimes and hatred.

They couldn’t come back from begging.

Tommy begged. But Tommy was no longer Tommy.

For the first time since the first block of the prison had been placed, Dream felt a sentence float in the back of his mind. A question that he’d never dared thought until that very moment.

_What if you’ve taken this too far?_

Sapnap was staring at him. Begging. Waiting.

Dream gave the nod. “Okay.”

Sapnap jumped to his feet.

“You will not struggle when I have Sam escort you, understood?”

Sapnap nodded.

“Just… wait here a couple minutes, okay? I’m gonna go get him.”

Sapnap nodded again. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Gut swirling, Dream turned and went to fetch Sam.

This was a mistake.

They couldn’t come back from begging.

The moment Dream had locked George in his cell on the very first day, it was as if a switch had been flipped.

The screaming instantly stopped. The insults stopped. The pleading stopped.

It had been almost nine months in Pandoras Vault.

Nine months where George had not spoken a word to Dream.

No matter how he begged and tried to bargain, all he was met with were glares (on a good day— most days George didn’t even meet his eyes) and resentment.

Nine months of Dream having to remember what George’s voice sounded like.

But that ended today.

There was no guarantee that George would make good on his promise. He could see Sapnap and just resume his vow of silence.

If that happened, Dream could just say he’d let Sapnap visit again if George would talk. Surely.

He was so desperate.

At first he’d just thought George was being overdramatic and eventually he would give in and open his mouth again.

But no, the man meant business. He’d kept good to his (unsaid) word.

But that ended today.

Sam had been alerted. Sapnap and George were on fairly opposite sides of the prison, so it would be a minute before Sapnap arrived.

Dream approached George’s cell.

The brunet was tucked into the corner, giving Dream a barbed stare.

Dream fiddled with his hands idly. “Hi, George.”

He didn’t expect a response and received none.

“Sam told me about your offer.”

George’s eyes narrowed. Dream realized he was expecting a rejection.

“… I’ve decided to permit it.”

On the opposite side of the prison, a door slid open and the halls went silent.

George formed the first syllable of a “W—“ before quickly clamping his mouth shut. He was so shocked he’d almost broken.

The goggles were long gone, lost somewhere in the fray months ago. He had to stare into George’s unhidden brown eyes, wide with shock.

“… Yep. Sap’s on his way.”

Shakily, George stumbled to his feet, staring at Dream with something other than malice for the first time in ages. Dream drank it in.

On the opposite side of the prison, A dozen pair of eyes watched from between bars as, for the first time, one of them was released for a reason to be celebrated. Not a force feeding or any other torture. Something _good_.

George moved closer to the bars, closer than he’d ever dared get to Dream, but stared past his shoulder expectantly.

“You need to promise you’ll talk to me, though.”

George whipped to him and nodded frantically, eyes pleading. Begging.

They couldn’t recover from begging. Dream felt sick to his stomach. This was such a mistake.

“Five minutes. I’m gonna be here the whole time.”

George nodded again.

They fell silent. Footsteps approached. Dream turned as George craned his neck.

Sam resolutely led a handcuffed Sapnap forward, expression unreadable. Sapnap was staring around at the prison wide-eyed as if it was the last time he’d ever get the chance.

Dream watched as it all happened. He saw every second.

He saw how Sapnap turned and locked eyes with George.

He heard George sob as Sapnap tripped, ripping himself forward with a cry of, “ _George!_ ”, Sam struggling to hold onto him as Sapnap dragged him towards the cell, falling over himself, desperate to get there as soon as possible, unable to get there soon enough.

George rushed to the bars and clung to them. The alarm blared but he didn’t let go, and Dream could see him up close for the first time in ages. He looked almost older.

“ _George!_ ”

The first thing Dream heard George say in nine months was a cracked, desperate, “Let him _in!_ ”

Sam gave Dream a silent nod towards the door, asking for help, as he was struggling to restrain a person and getting the door would be a bit difficult. Numbly, Dream complied. He felt like he was watching a movie from miles away, like he wasn’t quite present at all.

George finally let go of the bars, the alarm stopping as Sapnap stumbled through the open door.

“Hold on,” Sam gritted, digging his heels into the ground, “Let me uncuff you.”

“Fucking _hurry!_ ” Sapnap snapped over his shoulder.

“Let me see him— let me—“ George was begging. His voice was scratchy and low from disuse, Dream noted. It was strange, to hear him again.

It took an agonizing moment for Sam to get the cuffs off. As soon as they fell away, Sapnap and George dove for each other.

“Five minutes,” Dream called as the door swung shut and locked behind them.

The two collapsed against each other, Sapnap all but tackling George to the ground, crumpling. They clawed at each other’s clothes as if it would help them get any closer, like they needed to be closer more than they needed to breathe. Dream walked over to the iron bars and watched.

They were both crying, rocking, clinging, repeating each other’s names as if they had just been invented. Dream watched.

When they finally pulled back, it was just barely. Sapnap grabbed George by the back of his skull and crashed their foreheads together, not daring to let him go far. “Fuck, George…”

“Sap—“

Sapnap’s hands flew to George’s face and clutched him as he stared at him with frantic eyes. “Fuck, you’re _real—_ are you okay— did he hurt—“

George was talking over him, “Yes— I can’t believe he let— are _you_ okay!?”

“Fuck you look awful—“

“You need to shave—“

And then they were laughing and hugging again and sobbing and Dream had to watch.

He used to be in the middle of that pile, a long time ago.

This was a mistake.

How much time had passed? Had it been five minutes, or five years? Nine months or nine centuries? How long had Dream lived? How long would _they_ live? How much time was left?

Never once during the whole exchange did they separate or move away from each other entirely. They barely pulled away, and only to stare at each other and soak each other in while they had the chance. Dream watched.

Their conversations were fragmented and rushed and between bursts of laughter:

“So this is my cell,” George had chuckled, “Uh, let me give you a tour—“

“You look like really pale, dude, and thin,” Sapnap had fretted, “Are you eating?”

George, “If obsidian were flammable you’d have made quick work of this place already—“

Sapnap, “I want to kiss you so bad right now, and you’re literally so ugly, it’s crazy—“

George, “This is the best day of my life.”

Sapnap, “God, once we’re out of here I’m gonna— I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but I’m never ever leaving you again dude—“

George, “You think if I asked he’d let us do this again?”

Sapnap, “I fucking hate him, God, George, I hate him, I want to kill him— I’m gonna kill him—“

George, “I can’t believe it worked— I can’t believe he let us—“

Sapnap, “How much time is left?”

George, “Fuck, I should’ve asked for ten minutes.”

Sapnap, “I don’t want to go— I don’t— I can’t go—“

George, “Don’t leave—“

“I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

“Time’s up.”

Dream hadn’t wanted to say it.

Two heads swiveled to him. Sam, nearby yet not close enough to be invasive, deflated as he realized what he had to do.

“ _No_ —“ They began to plead in unison, “No, no no— no fuck no please no—“

Dream had the sudden realization that Sam might get jumped if he tried to go in there. Dream waved him off, much to the man’s relief, and went in himself.

But Sapnap and George didn’t team up to tackle him, though they easily could’ve. Instead they untangled themselves just enough to scramble backwards, away from him, like he was a horrible monster.

They began to beg like it was for their last _lives_.

Sapnap, “Dream, please, no—“

George, _George_ , finally talking to _him,_ “Dream just a little more time, _please_ , just a little longer, I’ll do anything— I’ll say anything—“

Nine months. Dream waited nine months to hear him talk again.

Sapnap, “Fuck you, _fuck_ you, _please_ Dream—“

George, “ _Please_ Dream, _please_ don’t take him—“

Their backs hit the wall, nowhere to run. They clung to each other frantically.

Nine months Dream had waited.

“ _Please!_ ”

He hadn’t wanted to hear begging.

They could recover from nine months of silence.

They couldn’t recover from begging.

Dream’s name had never sounded so foreign in their mouths. It used to be said warmly, or even angrily.

But never fearfully.

His two best friends, _cowering_ from him, in a corner. _Begging._

The town. The town. Think of the town. Happily united as it was meant to be.

Unity.

United against Dream was better than divided and alone.

Dream leaned down and grabbed Sapnap to haul him away.

This was all for the best.

George _screamed_ , genuinely _screamed_ , and launched forwards to cling to Sapnap, “ _No! No no no—_ “

“ _George!_ ” Sapnap struggled against him, but Dream was practiced in combat, and Sapnap had been nine months in a cell without a chance to practice, and Dream managed to get his arms pinned so he could cuff them. “Let me _go_ —“

George grabbed Dream by the shoulder and tried to yank him off, but the pressure disappeared suddenly. Dream glanced over to see Sam restraining George, mumbling, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry—“

It was long enough. Dream ripped Sapnap away and dragged him out of the cell, and thought dimly that he’d never seen a person try so desperately to get _into_ a cell instead of out before, and not once did they stop calling out for each other.

Once they were out, Sam released George and dashed to get to the door before he could, slamming it in the boy’s face who pounded against it uselessly.

Dream dumped the struggling Sapnap into Sam’s arms, who was seething, “Dream, I’ll fucking kill you, I’ll take every single fucking life you have, I’m gonna _kill_ you some day—“

Dream didn’t look him in the eye.

George rushed to look out of his cell as Sam dragged Sapnap away apologetically. They locked eyes and didn’t look away from each other for as long as they physically could, still calling.

“I’ll make him let you come back again!” George yelled, “I will, I will, I promise!”

Dream watched.

Sapnap disappeared into the distance.

Eighteen cells watched a screaming boy get dragged through the prison.

Eighteen cells couldn’t decide if they were envious or relieved to not be in his shoes.

George had retreated to the corner, sobbing. Dream let him cry for a minute before entering himself. He stayed a good distance away. He felt strangely numb.

It didn’t sound like himself when he said, “You said you’d talk.”

George sniffled, looked up, and gave him an empty stare. A stare that was void. A stare that was destroyed.

Dream had _destroyed_ his best friend.

“Will…” George said at last, “Will you let me see him again?”

Dream stayed silent.

It had been a bad idea.

But it had gotten George to talk.

“Or— or Karl? Or Quackity— Bad? How’s Bad? Is Bad getting better? Ant? Anyone?”

Dream swallowed heavily.

“… _Anyone?_ ” George repeated.

“… Will you talk to me?” Was Dream’s empty reply.

“I…” George paused, seeming to realize the position he was in. Dream realized it too.

George’s voice was a great bartering chip. Would he use it for scarce five minute meetings, or to fight for their freedom?

Quietly, Dream said, “If you weren’t here, there would be a thousand wars going on. Sapnap could be dead. You might have not been able to see him just now because his lives would’ve been gone over some stupid war, George.”

George went silent, eyes sweeping back and forth across the floor. Deliberate. Thinking.

“Isn’t this better than everyone being dead?” Dream asked, almost searching for some sort of reassurance.

After a long silence, George said, “I want an hour next time.”

Dream stared at him. His eyes had gone determined, the void ebbing. “An hour," George continued, "And next week at the soonest.”

That wasn’t unreasonable.

“In exchange for what?”

“I’ll talk.”

“And?”

And then George said, “I’ll pretend like I don’t hate you.”

Dream’s breath caught.

He’d known, of course. But it hurt to hear nonetheless.

_Maybe he’d taken it too far._

But George was talking to him.

And talking was a step forward. Talking was the future.

The future was unity.

The future wasn’t lonely.

Even if the company was forced.

“… Maybe.”

George’s mouth clicked shut and he went silent. Not good enough. _No maybe’s_ , his eyes said.

Dream sighed. He was desperate.

“… Deal.”

This was a mistake.

George relaxed. He didn’t thank him, instead, he seethed, “… Starting tomorrow. Fuck you, Dream. You’re the worst person I’ve ever fucking met. Get out of my cell and go to hell,” He said instead.

Nine months.

Dream nodded. Being told off was better than silence.

He left, letting the cell door swing shut behind him with a clang. His once best friend stared after him with hatred that only the most betrayed can muster.

There was nobody else to visit. He always saved George for last.

20 cells watched the lonely God walk out, waving goodnight to his two guards.

20 cells relaxed as the dollhouse’s walls were closed, the child leaving for dinner.

20 cells waited in anticipation for the child to return the next day with a new game in mind.

Dream walked away from home.

Unity. He’d done it. He’d gone in knowing everyone would hate him, but it was all for the best.

It hurt. Dream couldn’t smile like he had that morning. But his mask did. His mask always did. He appreciated it. It spared him the strain.

It would be worth it.

This was all for the best, Dream thought.

Everyone was safe. Everyone was home.

The world was dead as the sun set.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](https://lacystar.tumblr.com)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Little Zeus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664034) by [MistBorn_SprenDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistBorn_SprenDeath/pseuds/MistBorn_SprenDeath)
  * [I was just a kid (How’d it get like this?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175171) by [Cairo_Raiser545](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cairo_Raiser545/pseuds/Cairo_Raiser545)
  * [Hyacinths, Lilacs, and Poppies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319405) by [galacticabyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticabyss/pseuds/galacticabyss)
  * [Escape From All Who Follow You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512380) by [midge1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midge1/pseuds/midge1)
  * [Let’s go home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694453) by [Marybunnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marybunnie/pseuds/Marybunnie)
  * [Paradise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988708) by [Marybunnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marybunnie/pseuds/Marybunnie)




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